


Out of Hatred

by hearts_kun



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Canon, Post-Canon Fix-It, maybe a bit of fluff too but i'm not sure, somewhat angst, somewhat romance, somewhat slice of life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 08:35:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14891195
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_kun/pseuds/hearts_kun
Summary: Akechi comes back, drowned in self-loathing and fully convinced he only stayed alive because Akira hated him that much. Akira is to dispel this misconception. Cozy atmosphere of Leblanc is to help him.





	Out of Hatred

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to hsuoring, aqua and my dear friend yogu for editing!  
> Criticism is very much appreciated, but please be gentle ;w;  
> Also this kinda works under assumption that Akira had a huge crush on Goro despite knowing about the betrayal, but probably never recognized it as a romantic feeling. Just knew it was something deeply important. ?? uhh, it's partly mentioned, but isn't deeply explored in the work, because at the moment of creating this story it felt like something natural to me, and it still kinda does, but i thought it was worth mentioning now :')
> 
> [Click to see a wonderful illustration from hsuoring!](http://hsuoring.tumblr.com/post/174773456378/if-you-have-nowhere-to-be-just-be-here-piece)

Nobody waited at home. Akira’s mother didn’t open the door until he knocked heavily, and even then her face was downcast and sour. She didn’t drop a word, but he knew perfectly well what she wanted to say: keep quiet and go up into your room before your father gets angry.

 _Maybe the wave of change that we triggered hasn’t reached this small town yet_ , Akira thought, _because people’s hearts are stone-like here._ Of course, it was a real stupid comparison-of course, he knew very well this was going to happen. Nothing changes in just one snap–but still, he felt rather crappy.

It was devastatingly cold in his room, as if nobody closed the window ever since he left this place one year ago. The sense of warmth seemed forgotten here. Akira threw his bag on the floor and let himself fall onto the mattress. Back in Leblanc’s attic, it was much cozier than in this small lifeless room, which felt so alien after a year of Akira’s absence.

It probably would have been easier if Morgana had come with him. But, uh, well, he was lucky enough to have Ann shelter him for a while; you can’t blame a cat for wanting to stay with his lady, can you?

Akira didn’t feel abandoned, but neither did he feel that he made a mistake deciding to leave Tokyo for this final year. Just one year to finish school. It couldn’t be that long. Yeah, he did feel a bit lonely at the moment, but that didn’t count. He knew he’d get used to it. After all, he only had to graduate and then go back to his new life, to his friends. Even if he couldn’t make it into university, he’d just find a job. That flower shop in Shibuya sounded good enough. He assumed the girl who taught him to compile bouquets would be happy to work together again… although he would have to remember her name first.

Something began rustling and clattering outside the window. The rain started, quickly growing into a full-blown downpour.

He somehow remembered his first day at Shujin: water was falling from the sky just like that. He met Ryuji that day, as well as Morgana and Ann. Got sucked into a palace, awakened to his Persona, Arsene…

Oops. It hadn’t even been a day since he left Tokyo and the nostalgia was already hitting hard.

Thinking back, Tokyo always had a mysterious hidden side that only showed itself under the downpour. Those were the only times it seemed quiet: an enormous city, always boiling with life, would die down under the pressure of heavy water drops and hold its breath, as if it was afraid to choke and drown. Those were moments that gave Akira a weird feeling scratching inside his chest. Weird, but somehow pleasant.

Akira’s hometown was nothing like in Tokyo. It had always been quiet. No skyscrapers, no shopping malls that seemed to seize a few streets at a time with their abnormal sizes; no super-noisy-super-lively districts like Shinjuku. Sometimes it seemed more like a village: old people gossiping on the benches; one stupid school, taking its third year to complete renovations; Akira’s parents, rolling their eyes with contempt as he “can’t just mind his own business”, doesn’t “live up to their expectations” and is generally “the greatest effing disappointment in their lives”. Well, if you looked at it from a different angle, Tokyo was exactly the same, wasn’t it? The thing was, Akira lived with Sojiro there. He had forgotten how it felt to live in a house you don’t consider to be your home.

Morgana would have said he was going blue for no reason. They changed the world, damn it. They literally _did_ change the world. They only had to wait a bit before people would take control over their lives and continue and develop past this change with no more intervention. No God. No Holy Fucking Grail. Just freedom and responsibility.

Freedom, which also included the freedom to leave this cold room and wander around under the rain at least. Akira vaguely remembered seeing a new café on his way here. His wallet was pretty plump after all his endless part-times and sold treasures, so perhaps a little trip wouldn’t hurt.

He didn’t have an umbrella anywhere near him, so he figured he’d have to live without it. Mother heard the stairs creaking and started shuffling furiously behind the wall, coming to tell Akira everything she thought about him (she never shouted, afraid to disturb her husband). She couldn’t make it on time; Akira shut the door right before her eyes, hastily pulling his jacket onto his head. He wasn’t afraid of water, but he _was_ afraid that he wouldn’t be allowed in the café if he got all soaking wet.

He only looked back at his old-new place once, when he was already a few meters away. With the door ajar, Mother looked at him through a narrow gap. She must’ve worn a furious face, but the drops of water on his glasses didn’t let him see. Not like it mattered anyway.

Despite his fears, he entered the café successfully, with nobody asking him anything. It was half-empty. The signboard outside was unremarkable, and the overall feeling was way too different from Leblanc. Akira hesitated for a second, suddenly chuckling to himself as he realized Leblanc was now a golden model to which all cafés had to be compared if they ever wanted to deserve the “Nice and Cozy” title from him. However, this place, whatever it was called and however far from Leblanc it was, could be a good alternative. Take these funny, undeniably cute little pillows on the chairs, for instance. They had to be soft to sit on, especially the ones piled in the corner on a long sofa-like bench.

Someone was sitting there already, but the bench was long enough and belonged to two tables at once, so Akira didn’t hesitate and landed right there. He waved his hand at the waiter, widely gesturing and asking for a good cup of coffee. He was curious as hell if it was as good as the last cup he brewed for himself.

The person on the other end of the bench squeezed themselves into the corner and let out a quick tattered breath. It looked like they were bending down in pain, but nobody else seemed to notice. Their slightly greasy hair fell into their face, hiding it from gazes.

Akira cautiously reached his hand to touch their shoulder, but they suddenly shivered and hugged themselves, lowering their head even more. Their— no, his— hair slid away, uncovering a familiar desperate look in hazel eyes.

“You’re here,” Goro Akechi whispered, and Akira’s heart stopped beating.

 _No._ You _are here,_ he thought to himself in disbelief. He wanted to say something— he wanted to touch him— but Akechi instantly evaded.

“I need to go.”

Akira watched the boy he couldn’t save once and didn’t understand anything— anything except the fact that he couldn’t mess up his second chance. Akechi escaped to the bathroom.

Five minutes later, Akira got his coffee.

Two hours later, Akechi still wasn’t back, and Akira had to leave. He knew for sure Akechi wasn’t in the bathroom or anywhere in the streets. Goro Akechi had stopped existing once again.

For now.

He wondered what Morgana would say, but immediately realized it was better that Morgana wasn’t with him. This time it wasn’t about the world. It wasn’t about the Phantom Thieves. It was about Akira Kurusu and Goro Akechi. Just the two of them.

***

Father lectured him. His voice was cold as always, devastating enough to pull the soul out of you. He’d always been worse than Mother. Scarier. When his voice cracked from the inner anger and contempt, it seemed like every bit of control in this house went right into his hands. That’s how it’s always been.

Akira used to stare at the floor in these moments, barely nodding at every pause. He never wanted any conflicts; he didn’t want to argue. More so, he was patient. He could endure anything if it meant making the lecture shorter and words of disappointment quieter. Regardless, it didn’t happen that often, did it? Maybe twice a month. He could deal with it for the advantage of being ignored afterwards.

That day, he kept quiet, too. He was never the chatty one. Maybe on those rare occasions when he wanted to support someone important to him — then yes. Maybe if he needed something badly — yeah, he could be talkative enough then. Conflicts? He always faced them in silence, only speaking with the impression on his face, with his pose, with his gestures, but never with words. That day, he kept quiet in front of Father, but he didn’t stare at the floor. He took off his glasses, wet from the rain, and their eyes met directly. Akira remembered fighting Shadows in the Metaverse. He remembered the rebellion that awakened inside them, all of them, one by one. It never ceased, not even after Mementos disappeared. Even though Akira didn’t have Arsene behind his shoulder anymore, sometimes he’d still hear his voice guiding him.

Maybe there were no Shadows left, but that was no excuse to put on a dozen masks and forget his principles in the name of selfish comfort. That’s something Arsene would definitely agree with.

Father didn’t let himself slip or hesitate during his lecture, but he did look a bit lost, as if for the first time ever in this house, he wasn’t the one in complete control. Akira shrugged indifferently and left to his room, not dropping a word.

The next morning there wasn’t a portion of breakfast made for him. Instead of cooking for himself, Akira got dressed quickly and went to that same café. He had to admit that they did make a decent coffee there, from what he learned the previous day. Not as good as Sojiro’s, obviously, since not all accents of the flavor were correctly managed, but it was drinkable. Making his last steps into the café, he sighed and shook his head. Sojiro did make him a goddamn gourmet after all. It was fun, though. Brought the memories back and stuff.

When Akira came in, Akechi wasn’t on the bench. He wasn’t anywhere else either, though it was more crowded than last time.

Akira sat there right up until closing time, waiting for Akechi and ordering a cup of coffee or tea eventually whenever waiters started eyeing him with distaste. He couldn’t eat anything. He simply didn’t want to at first, then the thought dissolved in his mind entirely. The darker it was getting, the more often he was nervously looking around and twirling his hair. When the clock hit seven hours in the evening, Akira started bouncing at his seat each time somebody opened the door. Even the most inconsiderate, oak-headed watcher could tell by now that Akira was utterly panicking. Nobody ever said Phantom Thieves were entirely fearless.

Akechi never showed up that day.

Akira hardly slept. It was hard to force himself into bed without Morgana’s soft but harsh voice since it became a sort of ritual, a signal for his body to shut down and let him rest.

Near sunrise, he dreamt about the Velvet Room. For the very first time he wasn’t so much physically _there_ as he was seeing it… as a dream, as a senseless, messed up piece of memory, in which Igor was real and the twins were already merged back into Lavenza, but still every bit of space lingered with anxiety. All the cages were locked as Akira kept scanning along them, searching for someone… someone who was not his friend, someone distant and lost, someone whom he needed no matter what.

He woke up early, opening his eyes without any alarms, somehow knowing he had to set off. The sooner he got there, the higher his chances to catch Akechi before he left unnoticed. Given that… given that he didn’t do anything to himself by now.

To Akira’s distaste, the café turned out to be closed. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and squinted at the time: six o’clock in the fucking morning. There was a sign on the door clearly reading “10:00 — 22:00”. Akira slowly shifted his mind back to the house and recalled it was dead quiet when he left — since everyone was sleeping, probably. He shuddered. Mother always had been extremely sensitive in sleep, being a light sleeper. She must have heard him descending the stairs and turning the key (oh, right, that’s why the door was locked…), so she’d totally be awake by now. Was she sitting there, in the kitchen, her nightie on, watching stupid morning news, raving about how her foolish son just had to wake her up…?

He didn’t want to go back there and check.

“My, my… you really _are_ early.”

Akira turned on his heels immediately, grasping the railing, because he couldn’t stand still; he would fall, just like that. Of course, of course, this sweet, soft, honey voice couldn’t belong to anyone but _him_. Goro Akechi stood a few steps away, smiling awkwardly, his eyes fixed on the ground.

“Don’t worry, I might just find somewhere else to pass the time. You know, I wouldn’t want to be an eyesore. Ha-ha, must be troublesome, meeting me after you thought you got rid of two versions already, right?”

The only annoying thing about this was the way Akechi spoke, with a pure polite smile smeared over his lips like a thick layer of honey. Now that Akira knew more about him than ever before…

He couldn’t let Akechi go. He ran down the steps, grabbed his hands, carefully but firmly, as if he was desperate to stick with him.

“Why are you here?”

Akechi glanced at him with uncertainty, then shook his head and put his polite dead smile back on. He pulled his hands, trying to get rid of Akira’s cautious grip, but Akira was persistent. Akechi laughed — his insincere, nervous laughter, which once managed to deceive almost everyone, if not the whole country, now sounded like a nail scraping at the glass.

“Alright, I’ll tell you, truly a funny story. Funny that it seemed like a joke. Ever since the Metaverse and ‘reality’ were merged, it also took feelings, feelings of a people’s belief in me to preserve my existence. It doesn’t mean the dead are coming back to life, though. The whole point surrounded me not utterly dying in Shido’s palace. Something dragged me into the Velvet Room to face Yaldabaoth.” Akechi stopped for a moment. “Just needed a person to hear his speech, I presume. But that was a unique experience, I must admit. Meeting a god, after all. Having one talk to you.”

“And then…?”

“Then, I guess, I stopped existing for a while. I only resurfaced a few times when your hatred of me deepened, then I sank again. I can only guess it finally reached its maximum. Not sure whether I should be happy with this kind of existence now-but still, I probably owe you a thank you, don’t I?”

He was so soft, so sweet, so fake— it hurt. His pulse was twitching under Akira’s fingers, like a doe, trying to escape. Akechi was probably freaking out deep inside, while also believing in every word he said.

Akira freed his hands, hesitated for a second and made his last step forward, hugging Akechi with every bit of tenderness he had within him. He never was too tender and never loved hugging or cuddling in general, but Lord knows he did try his best this time. After all, it was almost the only thing he could do. No words. Words wouldn’t fit here.

Akechi was shivering.

Whether from the abruptness of the situation or from its controversy, he was slightly bouncing at every little sound, even though he was hiding it to the best of his abilities. Akechi had always been good at playing roles. But Akira — Akira had always been good at seeing through that.

“I never hated you.”

Akechi snorted as if he heard something funny and pulled back. He didn’t even give it a thought: just brushed the idea off immediately.

“I know very well what I did, Joker, and I also know why. I never pitied any of them and I still don’t. This tells enough about my personality, doesn’t it?”

Akira shook his head.

“I’m not Joker anymore, and you’re not Crow.”

“Whatever and whoever we are, time won’t turn back just because I became a point of nothingness. However… it was good to see you again. Truly, it was.”

Akira shuddered, bit his lip and pulled a strand of hair out of his bangs, furiously twirling it, not knowing what to do. Akechi didn’t seem to notice. He just kept smiling, even though he didn’t feel like it at all — one thing Akira learned to recognize for sure.

Goro Akechi was hurt and sad, and certainly lonely, since he never truly found the place where he belonged— never got all the praise and acknowledgement he deserved. He couldn’t even become a part of the Phantom Thieves, even though they were ready to embrace him. It seemed like he was always one step too late. One step — and everything was over, each time.

But now — now he was standing here, in front of Akira, certain that nobody needed him in this whole world. Certain that even his own existence was nothing but a mere coincidence, born out of hatred.

This thought alone was frightening. Back then, in Shido’s palace, Akira spent what could’ve been centuries in front of the shutter. He wanted to hear a word. A sound, a ghost of a sound, a trace of hope, _something_ at least, that would pull the trigger inside him. Something that would justify him going nuts and breaking everything, firing, burning holes, trying to save… but there was only silence. Only silence, shattering him into pieces. Morgana and the others were right: they couldn’t break the shutter and risk their lives, that wasn’t what Akechi wanted. He sacrificed himself after all, back then, and that was it. But now? He was trapped once again, though it was a different kind of trap. It was nothing like the last time, Akira knew.

What were the words uttered when they first met anyway? _“You’re here.”_ Just two words with an ocean of thoughts behind them and, more importantly, honesty.

“If we’d met earlier…”

“We hadn’t.”

As strong as you can be with Satanael standing behind your back, enormous, filling the space from the sky to the ground, Akira quickly learns that you can be just as weak when you have no idea what to say to one of the most important people in your life.

The wind started growling, and it was slowly getting cold. Akechi visibly shivered in his shirt; he wasn’t dressed for the weather at all. Heavy clouds gathered over their heads, and the clock read twenty to seven. Akira’s annoyed mother was probably still sitting in the kitchen in her nightie.

“Where do you live?”

Akechi gave him a cracked smile and shrugged, his face reading, “Nowhere.” Akira searched his pockets for a wallet. Well, of course, if he’d kept spending all his wages right and left, he’d soon have to survive without money, only consuming mother’s cooking and lunch boxes, which were disgusting, but it didn’t matter now.

“How about we go back to Tokyo?”

Akechi’s eyes widened in surprise.

They were two steps away from the station when the rain poured with new vigour. Their clothes got soaked in an instant. Akechi stopped, looking through the thick cold streams of rain, his hair getting darker and oddly settling down on his head under the weight of water.

Akira took his hand and ran.

They nearly tripped on the stairs making their way into the station, their shoes wet from the puddles, slipping and sliding on the corner. Akira eventually bumped into a stranger as his glasses were coated in water. At some point, Akechi started smiling. This had to be too absurd, even for him.

Akira knew Akechi hadn’t left for the sole reason of not having a place to go, nor for lack of caring. He was arrogant, confident, separated from the world like a bird trapped in an impenetrable cloth-draped cage. But that didn’t matter unless he let go of Akira’s hand. As long as he was holding on tight, he could laugh or be surprised — anything he wanted. Anything was better than nothing.

On the train they had to huddle together. Akechi definitely took more space than Morgana, but him being close seemed a lot more comfortable and pleasant. It might have been since people finally weren’t talking about the Phantom Thieves all day long as if they were living in some kind of reality show. It could also be that Akira wasn’t listening anyway, his eyes glued to Akechi… or maybe they were simply being shunned since both of them looked like poor cat skeletons, sniffing and soaking wet.

Normally, people started talking around Akira. It just happened: they wanted to be heard, and he could make that happen; he kept quiet, and they wanted to fill the awkward silence with themselves. During this ride, neither of them dropped a word, but it wasn’t awkward either. It was all about Akechi: he didn’t need to talk, now that he’d said everything he could twice over: in Shido’s palace, and then at six o’clock on the doorstep of the closed café.

So the train was moving as they were looking at each other: soggy, nasty clothes clinging to their bodies; Akechi’s messed up hair hanging like long icicles; slowly swelling nest of hair on Akira’s head, even more fluffy from the humidity. It felt like home. Felt like something close, perhaps even intimate. Akira had no idea why he’d even want to take a ride to Tokyo now of all times, when he’d just barely left it. What he did know, though, was that he almost loved the process of riding itself. It must have been Mementos’ fault: the Phantom Thieves spent too much time there, passing through the tunnels, watching endless trains go and go.

The Metaverse might have ceased existing, but the image of the world it held before had never vanished. It lived in people’s minds. Every day millions of passengers spent their commute together, shaking on the bumpy rails. Humanity was moving constantly, reaching for something unknown. It was previously going to hit the bottom of hell itself, but now? Nobody knew.

Neither did Akira know what station they should get off at. He just figured he’d feel it when the time came.

***

They got off at Shibuya. A memory of gigantic bones piercing the sky and dripping blood flashed through Akira’s mind, but there was no rain in the center of Tokyo; the sun was shining bright and warm through their wet clothes. There was no need to remember that day. It was all over, and the only possible reality prevailed, here and now.

Akechi was glancing around as if he hadn’t seen this place for years. In his eyes, cold math compiled with sincere confusion as the once-familiar city suddenly looked so new. Akira admired this unique curiosity in him. It was far too easy to imagine him wearing a white uniform and a scarlet mask with a long sharp beak. Not only because they were at Shibuya, where each step brought memories, but also because of the way Akechi moved. He might have been broken and locked inside himself, but he always stood on his own feet, ready to fight alone. That was one thing that separated him from the rotten adults and their rotten desires; that was why he got his Persona in the first place. Murdering people, cutting himself off from the world… he was always acting in the name of his ideals. Even now, knowing that these “ideals” turned out to be worthless, he was still clinging to himself. After all, there was no one else to prevent him from falling, and Akechi wasn’t the type to fall. He wasn’t the type to willingly trap himself up in a cage and hand the reins to Yaldabaoth.

They kept standing on the square, until the crowd, having gotten off the last train, rushed forward, squeezing the two into each other. Akira somehow managed to save them, though, dragging Akechi into a little niche in an underpass. Akechi raised one brow, wondering, and Akira gestured to the crowd. It was almost impossible to avoid these in a big city, but Akira never liked such gatherings. Akechi chuckled.

“Seems like I haven’t been here for at least four months.”

“Where have you been?”

“I told you, Jo—…Kurusu. When that cage in the Velvet Room started to fade, I immediately woke up in your hometown. You may not believe me, but at first I didn’t even know where I was.”

“Call me Akira.”

Akechi blinked. Normally, anyone would say, “Oh, then just call me Goro!” with that bright smile — but he didn’t say anything.

The crowd dispersed, and Akira spread his hands, showing something far, far away.

“Let’s go to Yongen.”

Akechi watched his gestures carefully. Their eyes met: he was full of doubt, desperately trying to figure what was even going on here. Akira nodded to himself, took Akechi’s hand once again and led him to the turnstiles. He wasn’t sure what he was doing, either. He just felt something was right about it.

Yongen-Jaya seemed empty compared to the crowded underpasses of Shibuya. Slow people slowly walked their slow and narrow streets, tightening around them with coziness and darkness. The greenery here was not a mere decoration; it was the source of rich air, lovingly stuffing your lungs. As they were walking under the trees, each step was whispering to Akira, asking him to stop and _breathe_ for a moment. Breathe this air, breathe this place. For the first time he realized that two days were enough to start missing your home till your chest ached. But that was part of their reason for coming here, so he couldn’t stop just yet.

Akechi knew right away what this place was. He slowed down before the door and gave Akira an ironic smile.

“Leblanc? I’m not welcome here, Jo…” He stumbled, frowning.

“Akira,” came the correction.

Akechi repeated half-heartedly, “I’m not welcome here, Akira.” It sounded both ridiculously right and frustrating.

Akira reached for him — Akechi evaded, shaking his head. He didn’t want to come in. He must have thought he had to deserve the invitation somehow (there was no “somehow”), and only then could he consider it (because no way would he come in immediately). The issue was that he didn’t actually _need_ an invitation.

Akira sighed, pushing the door and dragging Akechi inside by his elbow. He hardly resisted — perhaps because he was taken by surprise, not familiar with such “impudence”, he would say. Akira might even be the first who allowed himself to touch Akechi so often.

There were no visitors. Sojiro was on the phone. At some point, he turned to the entrance, his tongue tripping over a sentence. His face bloomed with a mix of emotions — indefinite, though intense. He stared at them, stared and stared, and then hung up with a cold goodbye, putting his phone aside and sighing deeply.

“I won't even ask-...what the hell, boy. I’ll go call Futaba, while you’re flipping that sign to ‘closed’.”

Akira shook his head, then pointed to Akechi.

“It’s just the two of us today. Please?”

Sojiro must have always been the only one to understand everything by two words and two signs. He’d also be the only one with that unique glance of his: perfect disappointment in humanity, decorated with a dash of love and fatherly worries. Of course, he remembered Akechi and the key parts of the story associated with him. Did he blame Akechi for everything, or did he not care at all? Or — perhaps — he felt something similar to what the Phantom Thieves felt when they were standing in front of the shutter, unable to surpass the last and only barrier that they couldn’t break? Either way, he didn’t ask a thing. Just nodded — and that was why Sojiro had always been unique.

“Akechi, you’d like something special? I know very well what this scallywag prefers, but it seems you always ordered different kinds last year.”

Akechi couldn’t answer. Maybe it got to him, but Akira was only able to guess, whether it was a positive or negative thing. He sneaked outside for a second to flip the sign, but this short-long moment wasn’t enough for Akechi to come up with words.

Sojiro sighed once again. “Well, that only means I’m making the same coffee for the two of you,” he said, and turned back to the shelves. Soon Leblanc was flooded with the sounds of beans softly rustling, cups clinking, coffee grinders making familiar noises.

Akechi exhaled quietly as if he was holding his breath all this time. Noticing Akira’s stare, he made that polite and dead smile of his, but Akira already knew what it meant.

“Please, sit down.”

It would’ve been obvious in different circumstances, but Akechi’s awkwardness was growing by the second. He could probably use a hand here.

He chose the exact same chair as always.

“Your usual place,” Akira nodded, taking the closest chair, and Akechi twitched slightly in surprise, unsure if he could really stay where he was. But there wasn’t anyone around, the café was closed, Sojiro was at ease, making coffee and only rarely glancing at them unreadably (though Akira noted compassion and concern in his eyes)… everything indicated that this was a safe place. A good place. A place where you can let yourself go. After all, Leblanc closed up that early just for them.

Never before had Akira wanted to convey this simple thought to anyone more than here and now — to Akechi.

Yeah, later Sojiro might grumble and complain that they’ll leave him broke at this rate. Might even say that Phantom Thieves are stealing his visitors instead of his heart, which is, by the way, a much more serious crime. Even worse, Futaba might accidentally turn on all her bugs and spy on them and spam the group chat with emojis and memes. Yeah, this place might suddenly get loud and boisterous — but for now it was quiet and peaceful. And it would remain as such; each time Akechi felt anxious or unsafe, he could come here to this serenity and feel protected. _Be_ protected. Just like any of the Phantom Thieves. Just like Akira.

Before, it seemed unrealistic to him as well. But in the end, it turned out to be the only right thing.

If Akechi liked that chair, if he thought of it as “his”, then that was the truth: this certain chair belonged to him here, in Leblanc. It was odd, even awkward, managing the space in this house, but Akira knew — he didn’t even have to ask — that Sojiro wouldn’t mind.

Cups tinkled as they were placed on the counter. The captivating coffee aroma rose into their faces along with the hot steam rising off smooth, still black liquid. Sojiro glanced over to them, seemingly tired, and rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Well? Gosh, you two showed up so damn early… Didn’t eat anything, did you?”

Akechi opened his mouth to reassure him, whereas Akira actively shook his head. Sojiro raised an eyebrow in doubt, looking at Akechi, but the latter averted his eyes, moving his cup closer. Akira knew what all this looked like for Akechi. It looked like a genuine concern. It _was_ , in fact, a genuine concern.

“I see. Willing to burn your stomachs with coffee alone, albeit the best possible coffee.”

It seemed as though Sojiro was talking to himself, half-turned to them, examining the shelves. Then, having drummed the counter with the tips of his fingers, he took a pair of jars and confidently walked around the corner, disappearing into the kitchen.

Akechi’s gaze followed him and he finally sipped his coffee. It was hard to tell whether he liked it, but his eyes and a small wrinkle between his eyebrows indicated deep thought. Akira had no idea to what extent Akechi understood coffee, but it became obvious long ago, when Akechi was still coming here simply to rest from life itself, that he was genuinely interested in different kinds. Akira was not the only one who noticed. Akechi fit perfectly well into the local atmosphere. It’s a pity he himself couldn’t see it.

Soon, the squeal of a blender reached their ears, followed by the clicking on of a burner (having lived here for a whole year, Akira learned this sound by heart). Akechi was slowly drinking, sometimes staring curiously at the kitchen and seemingly enjoying the aftertaste. The taste of coffee was somehow similar to that of a perfume aroma, slowly blooming from one tone to another. The difference was that the coffee was far more lively and delicious. Sojiro explained that to Akira a year ago, when they first met. Akechi didn’t have anyone to explain to him, meaning he either found it on the internet or simply felt it. The fact was fascinating anyway.

Right when Akira finally pulled his eyes away from Akechi and took his now slightly cooled coffee, Sojiro set two plates on the counter. There were pretty thick crepes, golden, almost shining, poured over with sweet syrup. Sojiro purposely made an annoyed face as if he didn’t want to babysit two hungry teenagers ruining his precious business. However, if there was a bit of sincerity — then, that’s it, there was just a bit. In fact, nobody ever cared about them more than Sojiro — that even applied to Akechi, at least here and now. Akira hoped it would stay like this in the future.

Akechi glared at the crepes with both pleasure and doubt, then visibly twitched. Akira stared at him, expecting explanations.

“Oh. It’s nothing. Our first encounter came to my mind, that’s all.”

That was… back at the TV station. The trip was more boring than fun or even informative. Him, Ann, Ryuji and Morgana wanted to go somewhere, Morgana mentioned pancakes or something like that, and Akechi heard him. First encounter — full exposure.

“Do you like sweets?”

“An unusual conclusion to make. But to answer, not so much now.”

“Sojiro isn’t only good at what he sells, you know.”

Sojiro snorted, quietly sitting down behind the counter and taking out a newspaper.

“I never tried anything but coffee here,” Akechi shrugged, slowly drawing his plate closer with two fingers. Only now did Akira notice that he had no gloves on.

He sighed and started his crepes. Thick honey-caramel syrup covered soft, not-too-sugary dough, slowly followed with bitterness and different shades of coffee when Akira took another sip — then another, and another. Sojiro rarely made something sweet, not even for breakfast; it wasn’t in his habits, but he definitely knew how a single dessert could turn your morning into something cozy, but also soft and warm and almost intimate. He also somehow already knew that Akechi liked sweets. Really, he either knew or was terrifically perceptive.

“Since you’re going to stay overnight, at least call your parents.”

It was still morning. Akira could have easily lied and told him he’d just take another train and be back home by sunset. There was no sense in that, though. His real home was here, and Sojiro knew him inside and out. He didn’t even ask if Akira wanted to stay. Of course, he wanted to.

While Akira was calling his mother, Akechi switched from coffee to crepes, only rarely taking a sip. Akira was listening to the displeased sniffling on the other end of the phone and smiling, looking at the barely visible sparkles in the eyes of the one most important to him and at the crepes slowly disappearing from his plate. Having finished the call, he felt a heavy look from Sojiro. Sojiro rolled his eyes and sighed, going back to the newspaper. They didn’t need words to understand each other.

“Will anyone look for you?” Akira ask, sitting next to Akechi again and finishing his cup with a single gulp. The latter shook his head.

“I highly doubt that.”

“Let’s go then.”

“To where?”

Akira didn’t answer, simply dragging Akechi’s hand and only hearing Sojiro’s mumbling behind their backs.

“These kids… will I finally be able to work peacefully today?”

***

Akira walked him through places where he once made memories with other people. With a lot of different people, none of whom were Goro Akechi and all of whom were nothing like Goro Akechi. All the people who seemed most important then suddenly felt distant; now they were only pieces of paper that had to be rewritten.

They hardly talked. On the train Akira was clinging to Akechi a bit closer that he should have. Akechi only rarely tried to free his hand from the grip. They both would stop spontaneously to look at something interesting or to catch an accidentally heard phrase. It seemed like communication. It _was,_ in fact, communication. It might have been weird from the outside, but inside — it was utterly right.

Akira would only sometimes ask, “Want to head over there?” and Akechi would answer, “Yes.” _Yes, let’s do that. No, I have no idea what you’re doing and what meaning is behind this, but let’s go there._ No one died from one day of madness. Especially those who have already died once.

It was already far from dusk when they got back to Leblanc. A dating couple would have a bunch of flyers from every corner of Tokyo, two torn cinema tickets and a few fluffy plushies from the amusement park; they, though, only had two stupid, overly-shaken cans of fizzing soda, and even that was simply because both didn’t usually drink it and both suddenly decided to try some. And most importantly — Akechi was laughing. When the drink exploded at the click of a pull tab, his sincere laughter was so beautiful that Akira felt the tips of his ears burning. You couldn’t see it under his frizzy hair, so no one but himself knew.

But these happy wrinkles in the corners of Akechi’s eyes — they weren’t covered with anything. Even if they only appeared for seconds. There was nothing better than standing at Leblanc’s doorstep like the two idiots they were, almost wheezing with laughter because the soda foamed up and suddenly started running out of their cans. That was a dilemma, right? Nobody wanted to be scolded by Boss for leaving sticky stains on the floor, but they both couldn’t resist the urge to take at least one gulp of this abominable drink, though it kept running and running like it didn’t want to let them poison themselves. It was… fun. It really was.

Then Akechi closed back up. That was how Leblanc’s sign affected him — he was seeing something in it, something that wasn’t actually there, and he was getting scared. Or remembering something. Akira guessed what it could be. But, dragging both of them inside, he also knew perfectly well that there was nothing to fear. He was determined to prove it.

Sojiro met them with a deep yawn.

“The visitors are gone, so I’m leaving you in charge.” He left without saying goodbye, only giving them one last strict glance. Just to keep them on their toes.

The door shut, the sound of a flipped sign followed, and Akechi, looking a bit lost, sat down on his seat (this seat has certainly become “his” at this point).

“How… interesting. So Sojiro-san lets you run this place, more or less.”

Akira nodded, quickly pulling off his wet t-shirt, but then stumbled. He was pretty sure he took all the clothes back to his hometown, so the only thing he had left here was an apron. Well, at least it looked like there were some leftovers fit for curry, so an apron would be of use.

Akechi stared at him with both curiosity and low-key tension. As if he was ready to leave any moment.

“I’ll make a curry for us,” Akira clarified, robbing Akechi of an excuse to leave, and put the apron on.

Akechi opened his mouth to object but stopped himself and laughed shortly. Akira made a face: actually, an apron on a naked torso should’ve looked pleasing, albeit a bit pornographic.

“This won’t take long,” he promised. Akechi nodded.

“I’ll wait.”

Goro Akechi could look scared or unconfident, but he never was the type to run away for good. More of the type that would try to figure things out. And that felt right, too. As right as did the noise of a cooking curry and a teasing scent, flooding the first floor.

“Smells like yogurt?”

Akira nodded and shook an already empty pack. Morgana used to always ask “what the hell do people put in their curry” and “how is that even tasty,” but while it was surprise and curiosity in his voice — in Akechi’s it was anticipation of something utterly new. He didn’t ask to explain, and Akira didn’t want to. Unlike Morgana, Akechi could taste the result himself — and this fact alone was giving Akira some sort of thrill.

Steam kept wafting off plates for a while. Akechi was looking at his spoon for a very, very long moment before he decided to finally take a bite. Akira pulled the strap of his apron, waiting for the reaction and not daring to start his own portion. Curry has always been his weakness: always, until this one important moment.

Akechi swallowed and unconsciously licked his lips. Akira pulled the strap so hard that it pressed painfully into his shoulder. Goro Akechi was going to try a curry cooked by Akira Kurusu — no big deal. No reason to fluster, but…

“Incredible. It seems I understand the way yogurt influenced the taste. It is truly fascinating.”

Being finally let go, the strap fell, stretched with all the tension. Akira nodded gladly. So Akechi did like it in the end. Standing here, behind the counter, as a worried chef, was somewhat unusual and fun, but not a very comfortable position for eating his own meal, so Akira sat down next to Akechi. He didn’t take off the apron, though — he didn’t have anything else to wear anyway. It wasn’t any better for Akechi, since he still had a huge wet spot of soda on his chest and stomach.

The curry turned out well. Each time Akira had been finding new little flaws in his cooking, but at the same time he got rid of other, bigger faults. If somebody told him a year ago that cooking could be so inspiring, he wouldn’t believe it.

“Well, if Sojiro-san cooks as well as you do, then it’s no wonder he always has visitors even in this tucked away place,” Akechi quietly admitted, when there was almost nothing left on the plates. It seemed like a simple phrase, but Akechi somehow wasn’t looking at Akira as if he was talking to a wall.

“Sojiro’s even better at this,” Akira noted just in case. Then silence fell once again.

Akira idly wandered his spoon around his plate, and the silence turned into words hanging in the air. Just a while ago there was a different silence between them, comfy and safe, but here and now it became sounds and letters, suppressed but longing to get out.

Spoons clinked a few times and there was no curry nor rice left.

“I’ll clean up.”

Akira took both plates to the kitchen sink. There wasn’t a lot to wash, but it was better to do this right away, rather than annoying Sojiro later. Moreover, neither of them could collect their thoughts. Something monotone and automatic, such as dish-washing, had always helped in figuring out what you’re thinking and what you have to say. Sort of… gave you a direction.

When Akira came back, Akechi was still sitting on his chair, curiously looking around. He must have heard the water stop and Akira’s steps come closer; the closest seat creaked, but he didn’t turn around.

“It’s usually not like that here. The atmosphere is different, but it seems quite dead at this point. Is that truly acceptable that I’m staying here this late after closing?”

“Yes,” Akira answered so fast and sure, he didn’t even think. He already knew for sure. “Do you want to leave?”

Akechi froze and stared into space for a while, choosing an answer.

“No,” he said, finally, breathing out, and Akira knew he wasn’t lying, even though this truth was hard to admit. “I have nowhere to go.”

“Stay here, then.”

Akira tried to smile and twirled a strand of his hair nervously. His old weird habit. When he was looking at Akechi, it seemed like all the chances were lost long ago, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still one last hope. This time it wasn’t about saving, it was just about… staying. Being here.

Akechi didn’t understand. He finally turned around, shrugged indefinitely; his smile revoltingly polite as if asking to repeat, please. Akira took a deep breath, gathering his strength.

“Stay here. If you have nowhere to be, just be here.”

***

For the most part it wasn’t logical, but on the other hand, this was the only possible solution. Of course, there still was a couch, but they couldn’t find an extra blanket nor a pillow, and the heater wasn’t working, and there was no fuel, since once Akira left Tokyo, Sojiro moved it back to his house. In the end, they just had to share one bed.

Akira has never slept with anyone but Morgana before, so sleeping with another person seemed surreal and deeply intimate to him. In fact, it turned out to be warm and tight, and a bit stuffy. The cold was crawling under the blanket to bite them, and despite the stuffiness they’d cling to each other, constantly bouncing from accidental touches.

It was normal for friends staying overnight to sleep on different futons. Akira and Akechi were hardly friends, though. They were… nothing. There was no word that could accurately describe their relationship, even though they both knew it was something vital, something close. Close enough for Akira to freeze, trying not to move, and for Akechi, being once again disturbed by a restless someone, to simply sigh and smile until they both fell asleep. Close enough for them to share a bed in the first place, even given all the weird circumstances.

No matter how hard he tried not to move before falling asleep, he woke up with half of his body successfully lying on Akechi. Overnight the blanket had become a knot in the corner of the bed, but they didn’t even notice, probably because it was hot enough with just the two of them. Akechi was still sleeping, a little wrinkle between his eyebrows.

Noises of TV and running water and someone walking back and forth came from downstairs. It was clear enough without any clock that Sojiro came to get ready and open Leblanc. The cacophony of sounds was way too familiar, and the wakeup felt too right, too similar to what he had gotten used to during last year. Not only gotten used to, but also learnt how to oversleep, even though “oversleeping” and “living with Morgana” at the same time was impossible.

The door downstairs slammed loudly, and the floor screeched under short small lively steps. _Futaba._ Akechi started moving hastily in sleep, squinted with a face of displeasure, then suddenly opened his eyes, drilling a fearful stare into the ceiling. Embarrassed, Akira rolled back to his half of the bed. Both froze, unsure of what to do. Voices and a loud “meow” came from downstairs. Weird, since Morgana was supposed to be with Ann.

Akechi forced himself to sit up with one short movement, got out of bed and started getting dressed. Akira followed him with a long and attentive stare.

“Enjoying the view?” Akechi smirked ironically, almost dressed now and reaching for the tie to tighten it around his neck like a noose. Akira sat up a bit and caught his hand half-way, lazily leaning over the bed.

“Yeah,” he admitted quietly. “It’s much better without a tie.”

The uncertain, confused, almost painful look that Akechi gave him back was incomparable to anything. Akira felt nearly ashamed.

When they both were ready to head downstairs, Akira gently pulled Akechi towards himself, back from the stairs, just for a few steps. Their eyes locked again.

Akira couldn’t find words. He just nodded _his_ way, overly confident, and Akechi nodded too, albeit dismissively, as if he didn’t quite believe what Akira implied. As if, even if it was said out loud, he still wouldn’t believe it.

Then Akira smiled and took his palm and led them both downstairs as planned. Because he was here to shatter that illusion. To be there for Goro Akechi. Gosh, he’d never give up even after a thousand attempts.

They uncoupled hands on the last step, because it would be embarrassing, but mainly because Futaba immediately jumped at Akira, embracing him and hanging on his neck.

“Stupid brother.”

Must have been the first time she ever called him a brother. The word was quietly whispered with a voice full of happiness.

He tightly held her back. Somewhere in the background Morgana meowed, and Sojiro grumpily wished them all a good morning, then turned to Akechi with a much softer voice, asking whether he liked yesterday’s coffee and was willing to try more. Akira went out of his way to see how he reacted.

Akechi went further to the counter corner, closer to the exit and his usual place, but somehow decided not to sit down.

“The coffee was magnificent, thank you. I have to go now, so please exc…”

Akira was fully ready to rush from where he stood and stop Akechi from even touching the doorknob, but something strange happened: Futaba was the first one to rush. In no time, she was already next to him, clinging to his sleeve. Her red hair rose in the air behind her from how fast she moved, looking like an open flame. She learned a lot over the last few months: for instance, how to stand up for herself or how to see when someone’s trying to crawl back into their shell far too quickly.

“Don’t do that, don’t shut off! Don’t shut yourself off. Do you have a place to go? Because, well, I really don’t think so. It wouldn’t matter if you did — Akira would follow you anyway. He nearly crushed that shutter last time, even though your signal was lost. This time, he’ll crush it for sure!” Futaba took a breath. “I know what you’re thinking… but you’re wrong. There’s nothing good about hiding from everyone! It only makes things worse… for you and for everyone close to you. Trust me, I know.”

Her rebellious flame was shining all over the place. She turned to Akira, expecting approval and affirmation. He nodded and looked at Akechi: _she’s right_.

Morgana sighed loudly (for a cat), jumped onto a counter and, before Sojiro even managed to protest, ran to its opposite end, looking Akechi right in the eyes.

“She’s right,” he echoed Akira’s thoughts and waved his tail. “There’s a lot we can’t forgive you for. But we do accept you. You’re a Phantom Thief, just like we are, Goro Akechi. And if you’re still hesitating, worrying over whether you’re special, just take a look at this guy. I can’t even start to imagine what he’d do for you.”

Akechi looked them over, slightly squinting. It was… he probably couldn’t believe what he just heard. No matter how strong you are, if you’ve been neglected and rejected your whole life — it’s hard to believe you’ve finally found a place where you are welcomed. It’s hard to believe there’s someone who accepts you. No matter how many times they tell you: once. Twice. A million times.

But Akira was ready to show him as many times as needed. To show and to tell, even though he was never the talkative one.

Futaba, Morgana, Sojiro — they all were ready. Maybe Akechi made terrible, unforgivable choices. But he was _theirs_ — _one of them._ They knew it from that very day.

Thousands of words never spoken were flashing in front of his eyes.

Akira suddenly remembered what Akechi said the previous morning. About the Velvet Room and how Akira must have hated him. He was so confident then, as if even after everything he had realized about him and Shido, he still couldn’t be loved. But it wasn’t… it wasn’t so. It wasn’t so, because Akira never knew anyone more amazing, more worthy of love than Akechi was.

He anxiously pulled a strand of hair, like he always did (that annoying habit…), but inside of him — something strong stirred. Some feeling he used to get in the Metaverse. A special knowledge.

“Goro, you didn’t come back because I hated you. You came back because I _needed_ you.”

It was the first time he ever called his first name.

Akechi… Goro… Goro sat down on his chair. Not even sat, more like collapsed, holding his head with two shaking hands. His mouth distorted into a vague form: even if it resembled a smile, it was far from being one. More likely it was a grimace and he really wanted to cry. He… maybe he just didn’t know how to cry.

Sojiro silently pushed Morgana to the side, forcing him to jump off the counter, and just as silently began brewing coffee for the four of them. Futaba landed on one of the couches, her eyes on the floor.

Akira slowly approached Goro, sitting next to him and leaning forward to look into his face. Goro turned away.

He wasn’t crying, no. But the tension was thickening around him like a thin cloudy substance, crawling over everyone around him. Something anxious, shivering and shaking, breaking apart, plunging its sharp claws into his shoulders. Goro was strong, very strong, especially after everything he had gone through. He was making a huge mistake each time he assumed he couldn’t become special — there was no one more special than him. But even the strong ones, even the special ones, can’t always endure the excessive pressure falling upon them. Even the strong ones and the special ones can’t stay alone and rejected forever.

But for them, it was hard to realize. Almost impossible.

“Do you want to leave?”

Futaba bounced on the couch, confused about why Akira would ask such a rude and inappropriate question, but he made her quiet with a single gesture.

Goro hid his face in his palms, breathing anxiously. He wasn’t crying. He was tearing himself apart inside.

Then he chuckled, ironically and painfully.

“I have nowhere to go. But I can’t stay either.”

He took his palms off his face: it was calm and steady. If it wasn’t for his bent back and a slight shiver running along the body, he would have looked flawless. Flawlessly closed up. As always.

“You can stay.”

Sojiro accidentally clinked a cup with a jezve. Goro glanced at him, fast and scared, then shook his head. Akira raised his eyebrows, not quite understanding, but then let out a short sound of realization.

Having finished preparing the coffee, Sojiro placed the cups on the counter with a face of displeasure.

“Drink. And you, Akechi… think before you run away. There’s no way I’m lending that attic to anyone else except this scallywag, since it’s become too much ‘his’ over this year. Which means it’ll be empty for another year while he’s graduating school in his hometown.”

“School…”

“That’s right. School, which you haven’t graduated, either. Kids… you haven’t called your school since you came back, have you?” he sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Anyway, you can make yourself at home here, until this kid is back. After that — share it as you want.”

Goro’s eyes widened at the word “home”. Still shaking, he gulped his coffee and grimaced — it was hot, almost scalding.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t trust me, Sojiro-san.”

Sojiro blinked. Shrugged and pointed his thumb at Akira.

“This guy is like a son to me. If he trusts you, that’s enough. Stay here and stop making excuses. Even that weird cat is happy to see you.”

Morgana meowed from under the table in affirmation.

“We’d be some shitty Phantom Thieves if we weren’t able to convince our friend that we need him.”

The sight of a blushing Goro was somewhat strange, but there was no mistake: his face got slightly red, and he was striving to hide a trembling smile, involuntary and _real_ , eyes shining wet for a moment.

He took another sip of coffee, scrubbed his face and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm down. Everyone went quiet, giving him the time.

“Thank you,” he said finally. His voice trembled a bit— uncertain, but happy, “Thank you.”

Leblanc was full of light. It might have been because the sun had finally risen high enough to break through the narrow streets of a Tokyo dormitory area, or it might have been due to the wind that blew away the clouds just in time — but in the end everything became calm and bright. The rich scent of coffee flew through the space around them, whirling into small invisible curls.

The faces became brighter too. Even Futaba, smiling slyly, jumped close to the counter and took her cup, and Morgana squinted with satisfaction, crawling into Akira’s lap.

Akira was only looking at Goro.

Maybe it was just the first step. There were endless self-repeating conversations waiting for them, exhausting part-time jobs, arguments with parents, constant trains from town to Tokyo and back, all relying on his savings. Sojiro’s cursing, Morgana’s witty but kind comments, Futaba’s weird jokes. A whole year of surviving till weekends, a whole year of constant reassuring: _You deserve to be here._

Nothing changes at once. Akira knew that, and he could imagine all the difficulties awaiting them in the future. But right now, looking at Goro, he could only see one thing.

This year Goro Akechi was going to spend his time in Leblanc’s attic, living with a cat who would never let him overwork or pull an all-nighter; drinking high-class coffee complemented with wonderful curry; coming _home_ and feeling safe. This year— and Akira wanted to believe it was true for all the years to come— Goro Akechi would know that he has a place where he is wanted.

Now, and always.


End file.
